And in the Dark I see Your Light
by Chiyume
Summary: "Somewhere distant he hears a heavy thump followed by the sound of spilling pages and he knows without seeing that Castiel is now standing in the doorway to the library, that one sudden realization sending something sharp and painful twisting through his chest..." Birthdayfic written for Niel 3 Human!Cas and Injured!Dean. Mature content with a happy ending in more ways than one ;)


_**Alright, so first of all; this is a fic dedicated to Niel, who is my beloved writing partner in crime and who's responsible for the inspiration behind the book that I'm currently working on. I owe him a thousand times over for the support he's given, and is still giving me when it comes to my authoring endeavors and I hope that I through this story will be able to repay him at least a little bit for all his hard work. It's a birthday present too, so naturally, it's like four months late… -_-;**_

_**Second; when I started writing this I was thinking for it to be something a bit longer than a drabble, maybe like a ficlet of some sort, but then this sucker just grew and grew and before I knew what was happening it had transformed into this monster of a oneshot (24 pages oh lord) and I SWEAR TO GOD THIS WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN LIKE A MAXIMUM OF TEN PAGES OR SOMETHING I'M SORRY FOR MAKING IT SO RIDICULOUSLY LONG PLEASE FORGIVE ME! **_

_**That said, I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless and please let me know what you think of it when you've read it all, okay? **_

_**Happy birthday Niel baby. I love you.**_

_**Now get to it! ;)**_

* * *

/\/\/\/\/\/\

**And In the Dark I see Your Light**

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sam is the one who helps him into the bunker when they get back. It's an ungraceful and clumsy journey from the car to the front door, but somehow they manage it without toppling over. Sam only lets him go for a moment and Dean's not sure if it's to close the car doors or to dig up the key to the bunker from Dean's own inner pocket before he's hoisting him back up over his ginormous shoulder once more in order to get them both inside and down the curved staircase in one piece.

His brother. His Big Little Brother...

They make it down, somehow, he has no idea after how long, and he sags into the chair Sammy lowers him onto when they reach the mapped table at the bottom of the stairs. He can feel his head lull back, heavy and limp as his eyes squints at the ceiling before him in a state of dazed detachment, knowing that he has to keep them open, that no matter what happens next he has to keep them _open_.

Somewhere distant he hears a heavy thump followed by the sound of spilling pages and he knows without seeing that Castiel is now standing in the doorway to the library, that one sudden realization sending something sharp and painful twisting through his chest.

He wants to tell Sam to get him out, wants to yell at him for letting Cas see him like this in the first place, but his throat feels numb and when he draws for the breath that's supposed to push the words from his lungs he can't seem to gather enough air to fill them properly. He hears Castiel's voice; warm and familiar, yet far tighter than it should be as it addresses Sam who answers with quick, strained sentences that Dean only intercepts as jumbled sounds. Something cold and hard presses against his mouth and he opens up obediently and drinks. Water. Not whiskey. A distant part of him feels a bit let down by that, but another, more assertive one pushes the disappointment aside as the water flows down his throat. Swallowing is difficult, even harder than breathing, but he knows he must have succeeded when Sam removes the glass from his lips. Liquid. He knows that drinking is essential, but for the life of him he can't remember why…

His head hurts, he's aware of that, but there's a different, more insistent ache coming from his left side that throbs and pulses along with his heartbeat. He tries to sit up, suddenly filled with the urge to _see_, but when he does his vision fills with dancing dark spots and Sam immediately pushes him back down into the chair. Dean can feel the hands on his shoulders shaking and ignoring the voice inside his head that tells him not to, he closes his eyes, the dark behind his eyelids feeling like a blessing. Having his eyes closed was so much nicer than keeping them open. Why hadn't he closed them before?

The world around him grows muffled. It feels good, more comfortable and he breathes out, a long heavy sigh that reminds him of a cool shower on a hot summer's day and how nice wouldn't it be to stay like this… to just remain here with Sam by his side and this blanket of quiet darkness that's slowly lowering itself over him. How nice wouldn't it be…?

The timbre of Castiel voice sounds like it's coming from far, far away when the other speaks again, but this time it carries a sharp edge of panic that slices through the dark and shatters the walls of building silence when it reaches him and that sound brings the clench back to Dean's chest, like a hook that drags him back and up, up towards the light and the sounds once more.

The pain returns, sharper and brighter than ever when Dean breaches the surface of whatever sea he had been sinking into and Castiel's voice sounds like barbed wire inside his head as he demands to be told what happened. Dean doesn't hear Sam respond and he want's to tell Cas that it's not his brother's fault. Sam doesn't have any answers. He can't have, he wasn't there. Dean's not even sure himself what happened. One moment he was standing, gun in hand and steady like a mountain; the next second the world got flipped upside down and Sammy was half carrying, half dragging him into the backseat of the Impala, cursing and dripping wet from the rain outside. Or had it been blood?

What had they been hunting again?

Pain flashes through his side, past his lungs and into his skull when something wet presses against his ribs, the sharp smell of disinfectant stinging his nostrils and making him want to gasp for air. He realizes with a faint throb of confusion that Sam is cleaning his wound - when did he get a wound? – and he forces his eyes open, the world around him overwhelming his senses while the light cuts into his vision.

The room is swimming in and out of focus, but he sees the familiar mess of long hair that's kneeling by his side and even though he doesn't like the tight look on Sam's face as he fiddles with a sowing kit using his free hand, the sight of him feels strangely relieving. It's not until he raises his gaze that the pain comes. It explodes like a fist to his face, rattling him to the bone when his brain registers the fact that Castiel is still standing frozen and unmoving in the doorway to the library, a now abandoned book lying splayed open by his feet, and the weight that settles in Dean's gut when he sees the look in those once so familiar eyes is worse than any blood-soaked injury in the world.

Cas is pale and the dark rings under his eyes stands out in sharp contrast to the current, alarming ashy color of his face, making him look almost sick. Even though he's been human for a while now Castiel still has trouble sleeping; memories of things older and more sinister than anything the human race could even imagine surfacing to roam through his head at night, causing nightmares cold and evil enough to bring even the most fearless of men to their knees. He's wearing the same washed out t-shirt and old sweatpants that he had when Dean and Sam left, but what had looked so domestic and comfortable this morning now looked rundown and trashy, as if had it not been for the threads of fabric holding the garments together the human beneath them would be falling apart in pieces. He's staring at the spot where Sam's fingers are pressing the now soaking red towel against Dean's side and he looks absolutely terrified.

Dean decides that he hates that look; to the very core of his being, he _hates_ it. He doesn't want to see that expression on Castiel's face; doesn't want it to exist there for even a moment, but the wave of unrestrained rage he feels building against that look crumbles and falls apart from the sudden slash of pain that causes him to groan when Sam suddenly removes the towel from his skin. He hears Castiel wince; a broken, painful sound that rips into his soul and settles there like an inky black weight; and the knowledge that it's his condition, his _fault_ that created that sound makes him want to claw his own lungs out.

"Cas…"

He can't yell, and the name leaves his lips is barely more than a whisper, but it's still enough to snap the attention of Castiel's eyes up to meet with his, the once so bright blue that Dean had found himself lost in so many times clouded like a sky filled with rain. The sight of it scares him, more than anything he ever thought possible and he strains against the fog inside his head, fumbles for the words he knows are there, but they dance out of his grip, leaving him with nothing but empty, ragged breaths. He want's to tell him that it's going to be fine, that it's not that bad, not really, but he can't. He want's to tell him that Sam knows what he's doing, that he'll be back on his feet in no time, but Castiel's face makes the reassurances stick in his throat and clogs it up so hard it feels impossible to even breathe. He want's that frightened look gone; the sight of it making him feel sick. He wants the crooked little smile back, wants those orbs filled with summer sky to look at him like they always had, wants to feel the comforting weight of that strong hand on his shoulder. He reaches out, not sure if the feeble movement of his hand is made in plea or demand, but Castiel sees it nonetheless. He watches the horror on the other's face shift and give way for something else, but he doesn't get the time to recognize what it is before the first rough pull of needle and thread drags through his skin. The room cringes and his hand falls limp to his side as the world around him gets swallowed by shadows thick and black like demon smoke, the broken sound of Castiel calling his name chasing after him like a solar flare into the darkness…

/\/\/\/\/\/\

When he wakes up he's lying on his bed, shirtless and with the covers pulled up all the way to his neck. The only light in the room is coming from the lamp on the bedside table, but even that is enough to sting as he squints in the sudden glare of brightness that overflows his vision when he opens his eyes. When he lifts the covers he discovers that there is an enormous band aid patched across the left side of his ribcage and when he takes his first, deep breath he can feel the skin beneath it stretch and pull as if it's about to tear. There is another patch attached to his left temple and the dull ache in his head seems to originate from whatever injury that lies beneath it.

It takes him a few disoriented seconds to remember where he is before the memories slam into his brain so fast they leave the room swaying around him. The Lamia…! And the stairs… His hand goes to the wound, the phantom feeling of claws ripping into his side suddenly all too vivid. Sammy must have killed the bitch before he dragged Dean back to the car, there's no way they would have made it out alive otherwise…

He takes his time sitting up, the stitches underneath the patch pulling at his skin when he moves, but he manages it, dragging his legs over the edge of the bed and dropping his feet to the floor with a groan. There is a blanket lying draped over the chair on the other side of the room that he's sure wasn't there before and there is something that looks an awful lot like bloodied pieces of cloth peeking out over the edge of the trashcan next to his desk; silent witness to the fact that someone has switched the wrappings around his wound at least once already. Jesus, how long has he been out?

There is a pitcher of water and a glass on the bedside table and he drinks from it until the pitcher is almost empty before he even attempts to stand up. His watch shows that it's almost two o'clock in the morning which is why he's not taken aback to see the lights in the corridor dimmed when he opens his door. For a moment he contemplates going back to sleep for a few more hours, but the hunger inside his belly is literally trying to claw it's way out of him by now and he needs to get something to eat, preferably ten hours ago.

The door to Sam's room is open when he walks by, but Sam himself is nowhere to be seen, so when he enters the kitchen to find his little brother slumped over the kitchen table, a plate of half eaten takeaway food and an open book by his side while snoring like a hundred buzz saws, he's not the slightest surprised.

"Hey… Hey Sammy, wake up."

He shakes his brother's shoulder gently, but even that light touch is enough to make the taller man jerk awake so fast the book ends up on the floor along with his fork and Dean has to stop himself from laughing at the sight of ruffled hair and wild, bleary eyes that turns to face him once Sam realizes what's going on.

"Multitasking only works when you're awake you know," Dean offers with a grin, but he barely has time to finish the sentence before Sam's arms are wrapping around him, pulling him in for a hug that makes the air rush out of Dean's lungs with a strangled squeak.

"Sam…!" he wheezes, "Wounded soldier, remember…!"

"Oh!"

Sam pulls back, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips, but his hands are reluctant to let go of Dean's shoulders, as if he's afraid that his older brother is going to vaporize into thin air if he does.

"Sorry, man," he apologizes, taking a step back. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry," Dean answers immediately and Sam chuckles, nodding in agreement.

"Well, that's not very surprising," he says, already moving towards the fridge, "You haven't eaten in almost three days."

"I've been out for three _days_?" Dean chokes, but Sam shakes his head as he reaches in and pulls out another serving of plated takeaway food from the fridge before closing the door and turning towards the microwave.

"Only two and a half, thank god," he says with a relieved sigh. "You lost a shit ton of blood and blacked out while I stitched you up. You've been out ever since… To be honest I don't know what would have happened if you'd still been unconscious by morning..." he ads, like an afterthought and Dean straightens up abruptly.

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Nothing, just… It's good that you're awake again, that's all."

There is a subtle, almost unnoticeable clatter when Sam places the plate inside the microwave before turning the timer on to heat the food, but Dean doesn't miss the way the smile won't reach his brother's eyes when he turns back around and he _knows_, knows it like a bird knows which way is south, that something's not right.

"Sam, what's going on?"

For a moment he thinks that the other isn't going to answer him and he feels something thick settle in his throat, making it hard to swallow as he takes a slow step forward, that horrible sensation of '_wrong'_ creeping up his spine like ice on a frozen water pipe, but then Sam's shoulders slumps and the cheerful mask falls away from his face so fast it makes Dean's heart clench, revealing the exhaustion that had been lying hidden underneath it.

"It's Cas," Sam says silently and Dean forces himself not to react to that, fighting the violent lurch in his gut that the tone of Sam's voice brings forth.

"What about him?" he asks, hating himself for the tremble that manages to sneak its way into his voice as he speaks.

"It's bad, Dean," Sam shakes his head slowly, "I've never seen him like this, I-… I don't know what to do and he won't even talk to me…" He looks up at him and Dean doesn't want to see the careful evaluation he meets in those eyes, because that look had always carried a question that Dean was not prepared to answer. He looks away, leaving the question unrequited like he always does and he hears Sam sigh, a tired sound that he has heard more and more ever since Castiel came to live in the bunker with them, but like so many times before, he shuts it out.

"Dean," Sam says slowly, "It's not your fault, okay?"

"What the hell are you talking about…?" Dean snorts, ignoring the ice cold lump in his gut to the best of his ability when Sam takes a cautious step forward, reaching out his hand as if he expects Dean to run away from him at any second.

"Listen," he says, "I don't know what happened, but when we got back and he saw you something must have snapped." He moves his hand, motioning to the doorway leading to the entrance of the bunker with a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "One moment he was standing there, looking at you and then he was just _gone_."

It takes a second or two, but then the floor appears to liquefy beneath Dean's feet and the room around him begins to spin when Sam's words make impact with his brain.

"He left…?"

Sam is looking at him again, pain and something that's far too close to pity in order to make Dean feel comfortable swimming in his eyes when his brother shrugs helplessly in response to the question.

"I have no idea where he went," he confesses, "When he came back he wouldn't say anything; he just disappeared into his room and I haven't seen him since. He hasn't come out to eat yet and he won't answer when I try to talk to him."

Dean's hand somehow manages to locate the back of the chair Sam had been sitting on minutes before, feeling the wood dig into the palm of his hand as relief beyond proportions washes through his system, threatening to make his legs give out beneath him and he feels Sam's hand settle on his shoulder, firm and reassuring as it helps him find his balance once more.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks, "Is it the stiches?"

The weight of Sam's hand feels like an anchor, but Dean throws it off with a reluctant shake of his head nonetheless, waving him away.

"I'm fine, Sam, just… a bit dizzy that's all."

"Maybe you should sit down."

It isn't really a suggestion, which becomes evident the very next second when Sam gently steers him down into the chair, the grip around his arm supporting him as Dean settles into the seat with a strained grimace. The stitches are still pulling underneath the band aid and he feels weak, not only in his legs, but all over his body. His lungs simply won't expand to take in enough air and his head is heavy and filled with mist that makes thinking impossible. The only thing that seems strong is the beating of his own heart which echoes through his body and rings through his skull like the chimes of a giant bell, leaving his limbs rattling with the sheer force of it.

Cas had left… Dean had been _injured_ and Cas had _left_!

But then again, he came back, and that's what really mattered wasn't it? That he came back?

Yes, yes of course it mattered, but _why_? _Why_ did he come back? And why the hell did he _leave_?!

"So he's here?" he mumbles, because he needs to hear it, needs to know for sure.

"Yeah," Sam mumbles back. "I've heard him shuffle around in there, but he won't come out. Sometimes he talks to himself…" he adds carefully and oh, how Dean wishes that he wouldn't look at him like that, as if he's scared that the information will somehow break him.

The microwave chimes; an inappropriately cheerful little ping that makes Sam's jaw twitch and the look he sends Dean when he gets up to retrieve the plate is apologetic.

The food is welcomed, but Dean doesn't register much of the taste as he chews it. His thoughts are somewhere else, more specifically down the hall where Castiel's room is located and they both spend the rest of his meal in silence. Afterwards Sam ushers him back into bed before Dean even has the chance to voice a protest and even though he isn't very fond of the idea of returning to sleep before he's had a chance to talk to Cas he still goes willingly, because even he knows better than to tangle with Sam while he still has half his belly literally in stitches…

Tomorrow, he thinks. He'll take care of it first thing tomorrow.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I'm still out here you know."

Dean holds his breath, waiting for a response, _any_ sort of response from the other side of the firmly closed, and above all _locked_, door.

"C'mon man, open up."

There's a brief noise, as from someone standing up inside the room and Dean tenses, waiting for more but nothing else comes. For fuck sakes, what else does he want him to do?! It's been almost twenty minutes and the only thing Dean has managed to squeeze out from Cas so far is a muffled "go away". He leans against the doorframe, a loud thump reverbing through the wall when his forehead connects with the wood, a groan of frustration clawing its way up his throat. Really, when Sam told him that he had tried everything to get Cas to lighten up Dean hadn't really expected him to mean _everything_!

Food was a no-go, being met with the predictable "I'm not hungry". All sorts of bribery had led into a dead end of silence and threats only seemed to have made matters worse. As of now Dean had been resorted to coaxing, balancing dangerously close to the brink of begging and Castiel still hadn't given him as much as a sentence worth. If it wasn't so fucking annoying it would probably have been amusing.

Two months had past since Cas showed up to join them at the bunker; wearing some hobo's old hand-me-downs, covered in dirt, wet, hungry and in every aspect _human_. Not even then, graceless and reduced to a shattered piece of his former self had he done anything like this. Dean had expected depression, tantrums, withdrawal, denial, anger, hurt, panic, fuck he had expected anything but the calm, collected, _logical_ person who had moved in to live with them. To tell the truth, like this in hindsight, Castiel had really taken to being human almost _too_ quickly. Eating had seemed like a pleasant surprise, as had the need for showers. He had stepped in and taken charge of the laundry, the shopping, the cleaning and everything besides cooking within the span of less than three weeks and he had not shown any signs of freaking out about the loss of his grace or the fact that Heaven was now angel-less even once. So why this behavior all of a sudden? What the hell was _going on_?!

"Damnit Cas, I just wanna ta-!"  
The soft click from the lock cuts him off mid sentence and he jerks back, expecting the door to open up, but the barrier doesn't move an inch, still nerve rackingly silent and still tightly shut.

Well, it's the closest thing he's gotten to an invitation so far and he tries to keep his pulse under control when he reaches out and grabs the handle, pressing it down slowly and opening the door.

He had been expecting clothes to lie strewn across the floor, maybe a book or two peeking out haphazardly beneath a heap of papers on the desk; Jesus, even a dirty sock would have been welcomed, but the room that meets him when he opens the door is nothing less than spotless. No dirty laundry, no books or research papers… The only thing that looks even remotely disturbed is the still made bed, and even that doesn't seem to have been subjected to anything but perhaps a sit down.

Is that what Cas had been doing for these past two days? Did he walk in, lock the door and then just _sit down_?

Dean swallows, with enormous effort, and it takes a discipline beyond that of his normal strength to raise his gaze enough to look at the man standing with his back towards him in the center of the room. He recognizes the sweatpants and the shirt from the day they had left for the hunt, the image causing a violent stir in the pit of his stomach. Castiel had not changed his clothes for three days. Hell that _definitely_ wasn't right… Cas _hated_ dirty clothing and he always showered every day, sometimes twice! The fact that he has now been wearing the same clothes for three days straight sets off an alarm in the back of Dean's head that blares louder than a fog horn, red lights flashing bright through his skull like fireworks on the fourth of July.

He clears his throat, announcing that he's now inside the room, but Castiel doesn't move.

Jesus, it's uncomfortable. He doesn't want to think "scary"; "_scary_" being a far too sensitive description for the emotions he's having about this whole situation and when he licks his lips he finds them dry and stiff beneath the dry rasp of his tongue. He draws breath and holds it for a moment, but then he remembers that he has no idea what to say, that he hadn't even believed that he would get this far and his mouth closes, having not produced a single sound.

Castiel still isn't moving.

His shoulders are squared, his back rigid and his posture strung tight, like a steel spring ready to snap and he keeps staring at the wall as if it's holding some sort of secret that only he can see, some divine truth that he has no intention of sharing with anyone else and suddenly Dean feels rage rise within his chest, hot and blazing like the molten core of a volcano.

What the hell is the bastard's _problem_?! Dean's the one who almost got his guts ripped out! Fuck, he almost _died _and here this bastard is acting as if _he's_ the one who should be doted with! And what's the whole deal about locking himself in his room and refusing to eat or talk to anyone – for god's sakes, it's like dealing with another adolescent brother all over again! Who the fuck does he think he is?!

"You planning on sulking around in here much longer?" He snaps before he can stop himself, but predictably nothing happens. Castiel isn't acknowledging him any more than he did before he spoke and the fact that Dean was _expecting_ that kind of response makes him even angrier.

"God damnit, _look_ at me when I'm talking to you!"

He moves before he even knows himself what he's planning on doing and his fingers closes around Castiel's upper arm like a vice, yanking hard and spinning the other around to face him, but the words; those hot, angry, _careless_ words that he had been about to say dies in his throat when he sees the look on Castiel's face.

There are red rims around the former angel's eyes and his skin has a pale, sickly tone to it that makes Dean wonder how the other can even possibly be standing. His hair is tussled and disheveled, strands of it falling down over his forehead to hide the dulled color of his eyes and when Dean's gaze travels down he sees that the other's hands are balled into fists by his sides.

'Scary' suddenly doesn't seem enough to describe the situation anymore.

"Cas…?" He reaches out, tries to place his hand on the other's arm again, but this time Castiel flinches as if Dean's touch is a whitened branding iron that will burn him if it gets to close and Dean takes a step back, his heart suddenly speeding like a runaway train inside his chest

"Alright, what the hell is going on here?" he demands tightly, but Castiel doesn't move. Dean can see the other's jaw working, sees the flex of his throat when he swallows, but there's still no reply.

"Sam told me you disappeared the other night," he tries instead, inclining his head to force Castiel to meet his gaze. "Care to tell me why?"

Castiel's shoulders pull up, defensive and humanly instinctive, the apathetic glaze of his eyes clearing momentarily to give way for a spark of panic when he turns his face away from him, hiding.

"I couldn't stay…" he mumbles and Dean blinks, slowly.

"Excuse me?"

"I couldn't stay," Castiel repeats, just a bit louder. "I-…" he cuts himself off and looks around the room as if he's just remembered something important that he forgot to do, his eyes darting over the floor and the walls, looking at everything but Dean's face. He doesn't say anything else and Dean's jaw clenches, his teeth gnawing on the insides of his cheeks in order to keep himself from exploding on the spot.

"Alright," he says instead, "Then how about telling me why you decided to set up camp in here like some god damn hermit, even though Sam clearly could have used your help when we got back."

He tries to not make it sound like an accusation, but lord forgive him he can't help it and his voice grows sharper and more acid with every word that leaves his mouth and they seem to cut into the other man like razorblades, making him flinch where he stands, but Cas still doesn't say anything.

"For fuck sakes…" Dean groans, momentarily burying his face in his hand before dragging it through his hair, pulling at it in exasperation. "You can't even man up enough to tell me, can you?"

"Dean…"

"No, you know what, I don't wanna hear it." Dean straightens up, hard and defensive. "If you wanna keep your secrets, fine, but don't you fucking stand there and expect me to just swallow your bullshit out of courtesy!"

"Dean, you don't understand-…!"

"You damn right, I don't _understand_!" Dean growls, "I don't understand a god damn thing about any of this, so how about you fucking _enlighten_ me!"

"You were _dying_!" Dean flinches when Castiel snaps at him, the words sounding as if they were knifes stabbing and twisting into the other's body with each syllable. "You were _dying_ and there was nothing I could do! I had to stand there and watch you bleed to death while Sam did his best to stitch you up and I couldn't _stay_, Dean, I _couldn't_!"

"So you thought running away would somehow make it all better?!" Dean spits back, his voice rising into a yell. "You thought leaving Sam on his own was such a brilliant idea?!"

"Sam was doing fine," Castiel mutters, but Dean can tell that he doesn't believe the words himself and that makes the anger flare up anew.

"He wasn't _fine_!" he snarls. "He had his hands full trying to keep me _alive_ and then on top of that you just took off and left!"

"I came back!"

"No you _didn't_! You went from hiding your sorry ass in one corner of the world to another! For Christ's sake, do you have _any_ idea of how worried he's been about you?!"

Castiel blinks, his jaw falling slack and it strikes Dean then, like a slap to the face that no, Cas doesn't have any idea. Castiel doesn't have a goddamn _clue_…!

"You're telling me you thought he wouldn't care?" he gapes and there is a flicker of something in Castiel's eyes that he can't name that lights up, just for a second only to die just as fast when Castiel's gaze drops to the floor.

"I thought it would be easier for him not to have me around…" he mumbles.

"And how the hell would that have made it _easier_?"

"Because if you died then it would have been my fault," Cas hisses venomously. "How could I possible stay here and face him knowing that the reason his brother's dead is because I went and lost the only thing that could have saved your life?"

Dean drags for breath, his mind already halfway through a response when the words hits home and he deflates, the last flare of his anger choking inside him like the dying flicker of a candle.

"You think it was your f-…" He closes his eyes, braces himself with a deep breath before he opens them again and just like that, it all suddenly makes sense...

Castiel looks ashamed, as if he just said something that he had intended to keep secret for the rest of his life and as Dean watches he steps back and sags down onto the edge of the bed, head hanging low and shoulders slumped in defeat.

Dean has no idea what to say or what to do, fearing that if he uses the wrong words he'll only end up making matters worse, so he does the only thing he can think of and sits down on the bed next to the other man, and he waits.

The silence that lowers itself over the room is crushing and Dean can feel as it presses itself against the insides of his head to the point where it almost starts to hurt. Castiel is staring down at his own naked feet and Dean finds himself copying the posture, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he struggles not to breathe too loud and he swears to all things holy that he has never felt this uncomfortable in his _life_.

_It would have been my fault._

…_lost the only thing that could have saved your life…_

_Dean, it's not your fault, okay?_

Sam had known from the start. Dean should have realized that; his brother had always been good at seeing stuff others didn't, especially when it came to other people's feelings. He probably figured it out the moment he discovered that Cas was gone, or possibly when he came back… Not that Cas had trouble with the sight of Dean bleeding in general, but this _was_ the first time any of them had been severely injured since he lost his grace; the first time the former angel had been faced with a situation he couldn't fix with a simple touch to the forehead or snap of his fingers. Dear god, the helplessness he must have felt…

Damnit, he should have seen it coming! After all, he had pulled the same scam himself once; popping out of hell as if he had just been away on a quick vacation, just like Cas had domesticated himself to the bunker faster than any of them had dared to hope. The difference of course had been that Dean had tried to avoid his shame and his dead giveaway had been his furious attempts to bury it in alcohol, but he realizes now that Cas had gone about it all in a completely different way. From the moment he arrived Castiel had been washing their clothes, buying their food, vacuuming their floors… _Repenting_ rather than denying and right now Dean was feeling so horribly stupid for not having figured it out sooner! Damnit, he could have _done_ something! He could have _helped_! If only hadn't been so blind, he could have-

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you…"

The sound of Castiel's voice startles him and he flinches in spite of himself. Castiel is still looking at the floor when Dean glances at him from the corner of his eye, but his eyes are not as distant as they were before and there's a telltale twitch in the other's throat that informs Dean that he is struggling to keep his voice under control. Dean looks away again, the sight of that bared piece of skin making him feel strange in ways he thought he ought to be used to by now.

"You've saved my ass plenty of times before, man," he mumbles. "Sometimes you've gotta give someone else a shot…"

There's no answer from Castiel and Dean doesn't dare to look up again in order to see what kind of a face he's making. For a brief moment he thinks he can feel Castiel turn his head to look at him and his insides instantly knots up and tightens, his fingers itching to scratch his neck or his chin in order to distract himself from the gaze drilling in to the side of his face.

"Perhaps I should just leave…" Cas sighs suddenly. "I'm evidently of no use to anyone in this place."

The moment the words leave the other's mouth Dean feels a cold hand reach in and clasp around his heart, the sensation sending icy waves of shock all the way to his gut and freezing every muscle in his body on its way.

"We need you here," he says, perhaps harder that he intends to, but Castiel's voice is dull and desolate when he answers.

"No you don't."

Dean refuses to ask him where he intends to go. He doesn't want to ask how he expects to survive on his own out there, without money, without shelter, because he doesn't want to risk hearing that Cas already has it all planned out. Because what if that's what Cas was doing when he went away before? What if he was out there looking for another place to stay? Another _home_?

He hears a faint crackle and realizes that it's coming from his own hands; his knuckles turning white as his nails dig into his palms so hard they leave deep crescent moons pressed into the flesh when he uncurls them. No, he decides, it doesn't matter what Castiel planned while he went AWOL; whatever it is, it's not an option, not as long as he has anything to say about it. It's not happening, he won't allow it!

"Don't say stuff like that," he orders sternly, but Castiel just sighs and straightens up, turning towards him with a disbelieving scowl and when he opens his mouth the words that come out sounds pleading, as if he's _begging_ him to understand.

"Why not?" he sighs. "I mean have you _seen_ me lately? Dean, I'm _useless_!"

Something sharp and cold twinges through Dean's chest and the realization of what those words reminds him off leaves a sour taste in the back of his throat. It's not the same, not really, but with the messy hair and the rumpled clothes the similarities are almost too many to miss. He grits his teeth, reminds himself sharply that no, they stopped that future from happening. They stopped that _Cas_ from happening and he be damned if he's just going to sit here and let a ghost from a nonexistent future crawl it's way back into their lives because of some stupid misunderstanding!

"I said, don't say stuff like that," he repeats, harsher this time. "You're not useless, so stop talking as if you are."

Castiel swallows and for a split second he looks almost angry, as if the fact that Dean won't acknowledge his opinion is a personal insult, but then he turns away with his lips pressed into a thin line and Dean sighs with frustration. The people who claim that mules are the most stubborn creatures on God's green earth have obviously never met one of His angels…

Damnit if only he could make him _understand_…!

He braces himself as he rakes his brain for a way to express what it is he's trying to say without actually having to _say_ it, but he only lands on the same old platform as he's always done and he knows that the words he's using isn't going to work before he even says them.

"Cas, I need you to stay."

"Why?" Cas spits back without even looking at him. "What can you possibly need me around for?"

There are a hundred different things Dean could answer to that. How Castiel may not have any mojo left, but that he still contributes to their fucked up little family nonetheless, perhaps even more now than he did before. How it doesn't matter that he's a human because Dean and Sam are too and they know how to get out of trouble, even without angelic support. He could tell him how even though Cas puts such effort into helping them with the household it's still his company that means the most, but he doesn't say any of it because he knows deep down that those things alone won't help and to him that truth is nothing short of painful.

He could confess of course… Come clean, right here and right now and perhaps manage to stun the other out of the depression he was in, but what if he only ended up making things worse? What if Castiel didn't believe him? What if he thought it was something that Dean was only saying in order to keep him from leaving again, then what would he do?

He wasn't worried that the other would be disgusted or uncomfortable with it, that wasn't the problem. He's known about Castiel's feelings for him for a very long time; after all that's happened, how could he not? The amount of times that Castiel put his life on the line – the number of times he actually _died _– for their sake is something that's not easily ignored. Sam knows too, of course. That's why he keeps looking at Dean the way he does whenever they talk about Cas, as if waiting for Dean to pitch in with a confession or something. So yeah, maybe his own feelings had grown beyond what he would have thought possible, or even comfortable for that matter, but it wasn't as if it had been his idea! Three years ago he would never have been able to imagine himself stealing looks at another man's ass while he was doing something as ordinary as unpacking groceries; or making up excuses to stand a bit closer than necessary in order to sneak in a casual touch or two whenever he got the chance. And he _definitely_ hadn't thought that he'd be catching himself daydreaming about what the plump lips belonging to that very same man would taste like on his tongue, or how those strong hands would feel if they ever were to touch him, skin on skin.

The first time he realized what the hell he was thinking it freaked him out so bad he had ended up in a bar, smashed out of his mind and with a hangover so vicious he couldn't even bring himself to drag his body out of bed the next day, and the very first time Cas had made a guest appearance in one of his not-so-innocent dreams he had woken up, horrified and trembling in the middle of the night with a hard on that refused to go away until he got up and took a cold shower. Sam had woken up minutes after and asked him what the hell he was doing and had received a wet motel towel to the face for his troubles.

Dean's method of handling this new, sudden attraction to their celestial friend had gotten better as time went by - not that he will ever succumb to calling it an easy transgression - and by now it had become something he more or less accepted in his daily life, although skittishly. Having awkward boners in front of your person of interest was bad enough, but add a baby brother to the mix and you've got pure hell on your hands! He wasn't ashamed to admit that maybe he hadn't been dealing with his feelings in the best ways possible; always coming up with a fuck load of 'if's or 'but's to justify not acting any of his urges out, but really, what was the harm in having a little patience? Because if he actually _did_ do this thing he had been thinking of for so long and it turned out to be the famous 'phase' people whispered about, then the world would have to come up with a brand new term for the level of 'awkward' to describe the way Dean would be feeling. Nonetheless, here they were, over a year later and as far as he could tell the phase wasn't showing any signs of ending anytime soon… He hadn't done anything about it and he wasn't entirely sure if he was actually _ready_ to do something either, but the mere thought about Castiel taking off and never returning brought such a freezing cold to his insides that he was starting to suspect that he was going to have to take the plunge real soon whether he wanted to or not.

The memory of Castiel's voice, calling his name, echoes through his head and he clenches his fists, remembering the cold and the black, dragging him down and cutting him off from the lights and the sounds. He knew now what that dark had been; he had seen it before, but it had looked different then… There had been more pain, more fear... Not the bittersweet silence that had tried to coax him in this time, almost succeeding and just like last time it had all ended with _him_, with _his_ touch, _his_ voice…

_Who would save me…? _He thinks. _When you're gone, who's going to be there to pull me out of the darkness when no one else can?_

"You did save me, you know…" he murmurs under his breath. "If it hadn't been for you I would have been long gone before Sam even got that damn needle threaded…"

Cas looks up, that same light from before flickering in the depth of his eyes, but when his gaze falls on the band aid on Dean's face they go dark and he shakes his head, as if he's trying to rid it of thoughts that doesn't belong there.

"I couldn't even save myself," he mutters harshly. "Heaven lies in ruins, my brothers and sisters roams the earth, lost and abandoned and I-…" His voice breaks and when he looks up Dean is only slightly surprised to find that there are tears in the corner of his eyes. "Don't you understand?" he begs. "Everything I do end in blood and suffering! How can you possibly say that you still want me around after everything I've done; after all the _harm_ I've caused?"

Dean looks at him then, long and steady while his throat struggles not to collapse on itself.

"We've been over this before," he says, "and I'm sorry Cas, but the answer is still the same. I don't care what you did. I want you to _stay_, how many times do I have to tell you that?"

"But _why_?" Castiel winces and there's a pain in his voice that makes Dean grit his teeth against the unfairness of it all and he knows, then and there that if he doesn't at least _try_, if he doesn't believe enough to place his faith in the feelings he has - the feelings he knows that Cas has too - then how is he ever going to live with himself if Castiel really ends up abandoning them.

_Who's going to fill the hole in my chest if you leave me?_

"You really don't know?" he breathes, not able to come up with any other way to say it and Castiel turns around sharply, his eyes suddenly hard and defensive, but they shift into an expression of confusion and perhaps even fear when Dean reaches out to take a gentle hold of his wrist. When Dean's fingers closes around the back of his hand Castiel flinches, his entire body going rigid, but Dean presses on, promptly ignoring the way Castiel closes his eyes with a painful wince when he brings the other male's fingers up to slide over the rough material of the patch that still covers the left side of his forehead.

"I need you to save me, Cas…" he whispers solemnly, and damnit he can feel his own voice failing him, the lump in his throat almost choking the words on their way out. "Just one more time…"

"I can't…" Cas grates, his eyes still tightly closed as if the very sight of Dean's face would render him blind.

"Yes you can."

"No… No, Dean… Please, I'm not-"

"You _are_," Dean interrupts him firmly before he can get any further. "I know you are..."

He says it like a promise and Castiel lets out something that sounds like a mix between a sob and a sigh as the hand against Dean's face slips and falls down to his neck where it squeezes, rubbing hard against the skin as if Dean's the one in need of comfort instead of the other way around.

Dean's heart feels like it's about to punch a hole through his ribcage, but he doesn't move, doesn't push the situation further. Castiel is shaking, his face almost completely hidden beneath unruly wisps of hair and his lips are moving, whispering without sound as if he's praying and Dean waits. Minutes pass. Seconds, hours, years and then finally the hand on Dean's shoulder shifts, the pressure easing up, but not wavering and Dean resists the urge to let out a sigh of relief when it moves back up to cup the side of his face once more. Another hand, slow and hesitant brushes against his arm before coming up to mimic the one on the left and there's a brief silence, a moment where time seems to stand still before the very atoms in the air slows to a halt when Castiel's lips finally presses in against his, blunt and inexperienced, but honest and oh, so sweet.

The kiss is chaste, and it doesn't last long, but it leaves Dean's head spinning to the point that when Castiel pulls away Dean's own hand shoots up to catch him around the neck, holding him still to press their foreheads together, his breathing rough and labored as if he just ran a mile. Castiel's skin is warm against his and he can feel the tremble of the other's body travel through him where they sit hunched together on the bed, their fingers clutching desperately to ground themselves in the violent current that fills the air between them.

"Dean…" Castiel starts, his voice thick and messy.

"I know," Dean whispers, "I know, it's okay. It's all okay…"

Castiel makes a sound as if he's going to say something else, but Dean doesn't want to hear it. He leans in and steals the words from his lips before they're even formed right and the quiet gasp of surprise the action earns him in return is the best reward he could have ever asked for.

They kiss, slow and unhurried. Castiel's movements are clumsy at first, as if he's not sure whether he's allowed to kiss back or not, but he picks up quickly and Dean can't help the sigh he breathes into the other's mouth when Castiel's lips begins to move against his in reciprocation.

They kiss until Castiel's hand leaves Dean's face in order to support his weight on the mattress as they slump further and further down until Dean is basically flat on his back with Castiel hovering inches above him. Dean quickly makes up for the loss of contact by bringing his still free hand up to rest gently on the former angel's lower back. He doesn't push and he doesn't pull, he simply holds, guiding slowly and carefully in order to let Cas know that it's okay, that _they're_ okay, just like this.

They kiss for what could be hours, yet when they pull apart for air it still feels like it's over far too soon and it's not until Dean feels Castiel's fingers slip down to the front of his shirt that the first flare of _want_ courses through his body and he gasps, startled due to the very fact that he had not expected the sensation to be so powerful, not this soon.

Castiel freezes, for a split second holding completely still, but then the fingers resume their path downwards until they brush against the tiny sliver of bared skin on Dean's stomach where his t-shirt has ridden up, causing Dean's entire body to spasm, another startled gasp pushing against Castiel's mouth. The hand stays there, resting harmlessly between Dean's hip and ribs, but the touch is like fire, icy needles of need spreading from the tip of Castiel's fingers throughout his entire body and it takes all Dean has not to roll his hips forward and seek the alluring friction of the other's body. Every now and then Castiel's thumb makes a slow swipe back and forth over his skin as they kiss and every time it does Dean struggles to bite back the moans that threaten to leave his mouth. So far Castiel himself has not made a sound, nothing besides the breathy little noises from their kisses and Dean doesn't want to be the one to cross the line, not wanting to take things too far too fast. He's going to let Castiel set the pace, should that mean that this is as far as they will go for the day, or the week, the month even then so be it. He's handing the reins over and surrendering himself to Castiel, like he always has and he makes sure to let every ounce of his trust show in the kisses he presses against the former angel's lips, makes sure the other _knows_.

However, it doesn't take long with that single hand on his body and the heat of those kisses on his lips to render the heat pumping through his veins close to unbearable and only five minutes later Dean seriously begins to second guess his ability to keep his building arousal under control. He doesn't want to tell Cas to stop, scared that if he does the other will misunderstand and pull away completely, but if they keep this up the situation will undoubtedly end up even more awkward, and that very soon.

He's still contemplating the best way to get his message across when Cas' hand slips and slides up to press against the band aid covering the stitches on his stomach and Dean breaks away from the kiss with a hoarse yelp, the sudden pain taking him by surprise. Castiel pulls back with a start and for a moment Dean is convinced that he's going to leave, that the mood is now ruined beyond repair and he launches forward and grabs the other by the wrist, halting him before he gets the chance.

Their eyes meet in a clash of suffocating silence and Dean notices the flush on Cas' cheeks, the evident rising and falling of his chest and he pulls the hand gently, slowly guiding Cas to lie back down and after some initial hesitation Castiel follows until Dean's lying on his back once again with Castiel's weight settled over his uninjured side, one hand holding Castiel's hand tight against his chest while the other reaches up to urge him down for another kiss. The fire's still there, subdued for the time being, but still powerful enough to make him close his eyes when their lips meet. Castiel makes another of those undefinable noises and his fingers clutch at the front of Dean's t-shirt, but he doesn't move closer, almost using the grip on Dean's clothes like a way to maintain his distance. Dean swipes his thumb over the soft skin of Castiel's wrist and he's taken by surprise to find that the pulse beneath the surface is racing; beating against the digit so hard it feels like it's coming from a second heartbeat.

"Hey…" He pushes his nose against Castiel's cheek as he speaks against his mouth. "What's wrong…? Is it too fast?"

"No…" Cas shakes his head, his voice an almost inaudible whisper as his lips move against Dean's own. "No, it's… Dean, I-…"

The fingers in Dean's shirt tightens even further and there's a desperation in Cas' voice that stirs Dean's insides when he realizes that it's not bewilderment that causes the other man's hesitation, nor is it fear.

Castiel used to be an angel; he watched humanity for thousands of years and Dean had heard it from his own mouth that the sex was something angels considered to be a repetitive and somewhat tedious act to witness. Cas knew about sex, probably more than Dean did, he knew about where to touch and what happened when you did, he wasn't stupid or ignorant. The thing that made him hesitate, the reason to why he was still clinging to Dean's clothes rather than his body was _shame_. Shame and guilt, feelings Dean knew of all too well. Castiel _wants_, just like Dean, but in his own head he doesn't consider himself worthy of this, to touch Dean like this. Cas has done so many things, has caused so much destruction to the world and Dean suspects that even the decision to stay here in the bunker with them is something Castiel feels disgusted by; a luxury his now human soul has grabbed hold and refuses to let go of, just like his hands are now digging into the fabric of Dean's shirt, a desperate clench of muscles that isn't grounded in anything but pure, selfish need.

Castiel doesn't want to stop, but he is too ridden with guilt to go any further and the thought makes Dean's heart ache, to think that Cas wouldn't allow himself the pleasure of this new thing between them due to his own self loathing.

He runs his hand up through the other man's hair and combs through the strands with his fingers at the same time as he presses down to coax Cas' head to rest against the nape of his neck. He holds him there, fingers still moving while he whispers that it's okay, that it's fine, that everything's fine. At first Castiel tries to sit back up, tries to interrupt him, but Dean doesn't allow it. He continues to talk and he tries to keep his voice steady when the holds on his tongue finally loosens and he allows himself to finally give words to all the things he had tried so long to convince himself wouldn't really make a difference anymore.

He talks, he has no idea for how long, but he feels Castiel's body stiffen when he starts to apologize for all the times he never told the angel thank you; promises that he never took him for granted, that he always considered him a part of their family... He assures him that he has nothing to feel bad for, that none of them are angry with him. He tells him how sorry he is that his wings are gone, tells him how he can't even begin to understand how it must feel to suddenly lose everything like that and he ignores the wet stains of tears against his collar when he explains how he wishes that he could help, that he would be willing to give anything if it would somehow grant him a way to ease the pain and he closes his eyes against the choked out whimper that rises up inside the other man's throat when he whispers the three words he knows Castiel must hear in order to believe him. He whispers them, over and over, until he's sure that they're seared into the former angel's brain forever and it's not the word 'need' that crosses his lips this time, that shield finally thrown aside as he presses his face against the top of Castiel's head and lets him cry.

There are words in there, hidden amongst the sobs and the gasps, but Dean is only capable of making out the splintered fragments of his own name. He threads his fingers through the other man's hair, attempting to soothe him, but he doesn't say anything else. He has no more words to give now; it's all right there, splayed out at Castiel's mercy to do with whatever he pleases and all that's left for him to do is wait.

After a while the quivers of Castiel's shoulders stills beneath the palms of his hands and eventually even the sound of his ragged breathing evens out into a slow rise and fall, the tension in his back finally easing up. Dean continues to comb his fingers through dark strands as the room goes quiet once again and he's relieved to find that it's a different kind of silence this time. It's almost relaxing and Dean catches himself dozing off where he's lying, the effects of the painkillers he took this morning taking their toll on him as his eyes loses themselves in the ceiling above their heads. The minutes ticks by slowly and he's literally balancing on the edge between sleep and wakefulness when Castiel suddenly moves. Dean doesn't get much time to react before the other is pressing his mouth against his, hard and insistent and it takes him by such surprise that he's gasping for air and struggling to sit back up before he even knows what's going on. Castiel holds him down, keeps him from moving further using the resolve of his lips alone and when he places a hand on his shoulder to push Dean practically melts back down onto the bed as helplessly as a chunk of butter in a frying pan. There's a hunger in the way Castiel presses in against his side this time, something new in the taste of his kisses and when Cas' hand finds the hem of Dean's shirt once more the determination in the movement makes him shudder; anticipation and nervousness rushing down to coil hot and cold in his stomach when Castiel tugs the fabric up higher to reveal the bruised and taped side of his chest.

This time when Castiel pulls back it's not to move away. He looks at the band aid, studies it intently as if it was a part of an important experiment for almost a full minute before he leans down and presses a single, tender kiss against the edge of the patch that sets every nerve in Dean's body on fire. Castiel shifts his bodyweight, settling himself down on top of Dean's thigh with one leg on either side of him and then repeats the action, this time a little higher, then again, and again, and again; lining the borders of the covered wound with kisses that burns and soothes all at once. He comes dangerously close to mouth at a nipple and Dean steels himself, waits for the electric touch of skin on skin, but it never comes. Instead Castiel scoots down to cover the parts of him that he hadn't kissed before and when lips brushes against the inside of his hipbone Dean is mortified by the moan that suddenly rips itself out of his mouth. Castiel only spares him a brief glance before he kisses him again, longer this time and Dean barely manages to register the heavy twitch inside his boxers before he feels the weight of a hand settle firmly over his crotch.

"Fuck…!"

The curse slips out before he can stop it, but instead of being snapped out of it he feels Castiel's lips curve against his skin in something he immediately identifies as a smile and fuck, just when he thinks things can't get any hotter Castiel squeezes him through his jeans and sends his hips into a stuttering fit against the palm of his hand.

"Cas… Cas, wait…" What the fuck is he _saying_? His body is screaming at him to shut the hell up and just go with the flow now that it was back, but deep down he knows that he has to ask, if not for Cas then at least for his own morality's sake.

"Are y-you…" he starts, failing to suppress a stutter, "I mean, are you sure you're okay with this?" He makes a weak gesture to the barely-there space between their bodies. "Don't get me wrong, I'm all aboard, but… if you want to take it slower…"

"I want _you_."

There's no doubt in Castiel's voice when he says it and the tone of it, that absolute _certainty_ sends something raw and primal rippling up Dean's spine and he doesn't know what else to do but nod and breathe out a low 'okay' in response before he reaches down and grabs hold of Castiel's shoulder and yanks him back up by the t-shirt to kiss him like he has been longing to kiss him for what feels like ages.

Cas thigh presses up against him when Dean's pull forces him to adjust his balance and Dean buries his sharp gasp in the space between their lips, his pelvis rolling up on pure reflex against Castiel's leg and the sheer exhilaration that hits him square in the gut when Castiel moans back is nothing short of euphoric. It makes the hair on his arms stand up and causes every nerve ending in his body to snap into violent attention and when he presses his hand against Castiel's lower back to push him down at the same time as he brings his own leg up to return the favor, the sound of Castiel's unrestricted groan rips canyon-deep shreds into his self control.

He lets his hands fall down to settle on the slope of Castiel's ass at the same time as he rocks up, braving a little more pressure, a little more force when he urges Cas to move with him and the hardness that pushes against the ridge of his thigh when he does is unmistakably familiar at the same time as it's indisputably and gut wrenchingly new. A bright flash of self awareness informs him that he's grinding himself against a member of the human race that has a dick, and that two dicks in an equation of two people is something that should terrify him, but he ignores it firmly, having expected that such thoughts would make an appearance sooner or later.

He's not, however, expecting Castiel to bury his face against the slope of his neck with a startled cry when his newfound determination makes him rock their bodies together harder than before and Castiel's pelvis immediately stutters down and pushes against his leg in a motion so uncontrolled and instinctive it leaves a sharp burn around his neck when the other's fingers tightens around the collar of his shirt in a death grip. He hears the cry morph into a strangled whimper that beats warm and moist against his skin as Castiel begins to rub himself against his thigh so hard Dean has to fight to keep it from being pushed back down against the mattress again.

He doesn't have to move, hell, even if he were to try there was no way he'd ever be able to get the rhythm right anyway, not with Cas thrusting against him the way he was, all frantic breaths and primal urges, and fuck, Dean had no idea desperation could ever be this hot. His own hips bucks whenever the other's body manages to grind against him in that just-right way that makes stars dance across his vision and every one of Dean's, in his own opinion rather disoriented actions, is received by another one of those delicious gasps that makes the blood in his veins boil hot.

God, he feels like he's about to catch fire and burn from the inside out…! There's a tingle at the base of his spine that keeps bursting and sparking like firework every time their bodies pushes together and he's fairly certain that if they don't stop, if they don't at least _slow down_, then this will all be over before they even get started.

Then suddenly Castiel's leg shifts, pushing his body higher and Dean throws his head back when he feels their erections slot up against each other, the length of his own arousal pushing hard through the rough fabric of his jeans. The pleasure however, gets instantly overshadowed by pain when the top of his skull connects with the hard concrete of the wall behind him, forcefully reminding him that they're still lying awkwardly sprawled across the center of the bed and he drags himself up, supporting his weight on one of his elbows with a low hiss.

"Hey, hey, hold up…" he pushes at the Castiel's shoulders, trying to get his attention, but Cas just burrows his head against the side of his face and Dean sucks in a sharp breath when he feels the tip of a wet tongue ghost against the lobe of his ear.

"Cas…! Cas, we gotta… _shit_…" He pushes harder and finally Castiel leans off of him with a disapproving noise that Dean decides would be very, very dangerous to pay attention to.

"Turn around," he says instead, tugging at Castiel's shirt to show him what he means as he does his best to wiggle into a more comfortable position, edging their bodies to lie along the length of the mattress rather than across it and even though Castiel doesn't appear very enthusiastic about stopping he follows obediently. He closes the space between them on all fours, but when he moves to lie down on top of the Winchester once more Dean stops him, causing the ex angel to look down upon the five fingers suddenly splayed across his chest with a disapproving frown.

"Not so fast," Dean grins, motioning towards the pillows at the top of the bed. "On your back," he instructs and Castiel complies, still with that impatient crease on his brow. The sight of it makes Dean smile and he leans down to press his lips against the his forehead, perhaps in an attempt to shoo the expression away, who knows, at the same time as he straddles the other male's thighs. When he pulls back again Castiel is looking up at him with a face of pure, quizzical awe and something wild and untamed flutters inside Dean's stomach, his hand coming up to rub across his neck in a fit of abashment.

"Don't look at me like that," he scolds, fighting the heat that threatens to rise to his cheeks by clearing his throat and letting his hand drop down to smooth lightly across the ridge of the other's hip bone. Castiel's eyelids slides shut at the touch and his mouth bites back a gasp when Dean moves the hand higher, pushing up and underneath the hem of the washed out fabric of the other man's t-shirt to drag the pads of his fingers across the taut skin of his stomach.

Dean swallows. It's hard, incredibly so, and his tongue sticks to the dry roof of his mouth as he watches Castiel clamp down on his lower lip with his teeth, stifling a whimper when Dean's fingers reaches his nipples. Cas' own fingers dig into the covers like talons the moment Dean touches the two tips, breathing heavily through his nose as the other lets each finger catch on the perky edges in a light tease before smoothing his hands down his ribs to start the exploration all over again. Dean can feel the heavy thumps of a heartbeat thunder against his palms, a furious staccato that makes his arms tremble and when he braves a light pinch to one of the hard nubs he can see the abs beneath the other's skin tense and jump in response.

"You like that?" he asks, making sure it doesn't come out like teasing and Cas answers with a nod and a hoarse moan when Dean does it again. Castiel's hips grinds up, but there's too much space between them to earn him any sort of friction and he lets out a frustrated growl at the same time as he grabs hold of Dean's wrists, pulling them downwards, but Dean twists out of the grip easily.

"You're moving too fast," he says, ignoring the way Castiel glares at him as he leans down and places a slow, languid kiss on the ex angel's stomach. He hears Cas suck in a sharp breath above his head as he mouths his way up across the ribs and licks at a hard nipple, biting down loosely with this teeth while he lets the thumb of his other hand circle the other nub and once again Castiel bucks his hips, groaning when his silent plea for attention is left unanswered for a second time. Dean quickly reaches the conclusion that he really, _really_ likes that reaction and he makes sure to take his time before he finally decides to abandons his work on Castiel's chest in favor of moving further up, kissing his neck and placing nibbles and love bites all the way up to his ear where he stops to suckle lazily at the lobe. He brings his hand up to fist in the hair on top of Castiel's head, pulling at it lazily and lets his nails scratch bluntly all the way down to the short hairs on the back of the neck before licking a hot trail down the length of the other's jawline, the ragged sounds of Castiel's moans and pants making his stomach clench in pure exhilaration.

When his mouth reaches Castiel's lips anew he lets his hand drop to rub lightly on the outside of the loose sweatpants at the same time as he kisses him, harder and more intensely than before, making Castiel shove and moan against his hand and mouth as if the loss of contact would kill him. Dean takes his opportunity to grab around the hard length through the fabric, tracing the edges of it with his fingers in a loose fist and this time it's Castiel who throws his head back, a string of saliva still connecting their lips when he opens his mouth in a breathless cry.

Dean only allows him a few seconds of relief before he moves his hand away to clutch around a cotton clad thigh instead, massaging the tense muscles and slipping his hand underneath Cas' body to grope at his ass. Cas jolts when three of Dean's fingers digs into the firm flesh of his buttocks and he tries to shift, tilting his hips to make Dean return the attention to his crotch and the erection that's tenting through his trousers, but when Dean doesn't move he lets go of the sheets in order to perform the task himself. He doesn't get far before Dean's fingers clutch around his wrist and stops him and it's probably a good thing Cas no longer has any supernatural strength because otherwise Dean would probably have ended up with his face pushed into the mattress before he could even say 'cherry pie'. At the moment, however, Castiel is too far gone to even dislodge Dean from his seat over his legs and a breathy little whine punches out of his lungs when Dean drags his hand back up to press it firmly into the pillow next to his head.

"What did I tell you about moving too fast?" Dean scolds halfheartedly, trying his best to keep the pleased grin from being heard in his voice and he's half surprised, half incredibly turned on when Castiel's response is to actually growl at him.

"Let me go!"

"Patience, pretty boy."

"I don't want to be patient," Cas snaps, "I want you to _touch_ me!"

Dean stops and looks down at the face below him, takes in the heated flush of those cheeks and the close to feverish glace in those blue eyes. Castiel truly looks as if he's on the verge of losing it at any given moment, and the sadistic side of Dean's sexuality is toying with the thought of dragging this out for even longer than he has, but then he decides that no, such activities would have to wait for another time. Right now he wants to see that normally so blank face overcome by all the pleasure and need Dean can possibly coax out of him, wants the ease the weight of the world from Castiel's shoulders, if only for a moment, to soothe and heal with his fingers, lips and tongue until the other can't bear to even stand it anymore.

He lets go of Castiel's hand and Cas' eyes widens when Dean slowly begins to pull his sweatpants down. There's a brief moment of resistance when the elastic band stretches as far as it will go and then the thick sound of skin on skin is heard as Castiel's erection comes free from the garment and slaps up hard against his stomach with a relieved gasp from Castiel's lips. Dean takes a few seconds for himself to trace the rigid organ with his eyes, makes sure to take in the slightly curved shape of it, the flushed red color of the skin and when his gaze lands on the clear shine of liquid that's smeared out over the tip something just below his navel clenches so hard he almost loses his balance for a moment.

He reaches out and lets the tip of his index finger slide feathery light along the organ before him, trying his best not to linger on the way his hand shakes as he does it and he finds the skin smooth and silky beneath the touch, the heat of it so hot it feels like it's burning him. Cas whimpers and buries the side of his face in the pillow, his entire body twitching when Dean moves the finger up and down, slowly, over and over. He cups the testicles gently with his free hand, rolling them in his palm as he leans down to kiss and lavish at whatever spots on the other's torso that he can reach. He stays that way, just holding and tracing until there's a thick shine of precome glistening on Castiel's stomach and the other man is nothing short of an incoherent mess. That's when he finally closes his hand around the erection in a loose fist and starts to pump and Castiel's hands shoots up to grapple at the front of Dean's shirt, his eyes snapping open and his stomach clenching so hard he almost sits straight up from the sheer force of it. He tries to say something, but Dean kisses him before there's any time and continues to jack him off, just as slowly and methodically as he has been doing everything else and Castiel is writhing with it, moaning and panting nonsense against the seam of their lips, groaning whenever Dean alters the pace to deliberately throw him off rhythm.

Dean's so wrapped up in the many different sounds and reactions he's wringing out of the man beneath him that he completely forgets about the fact that Castiel has two hands of his own and he's nowhere near prepared when he suddenly feels one of them reach out to splay over the bulge in his own jeans, rubbing against his erection with such unschooled insistency it makes the breath catch in his throat.

"You too…" Cas pants, "Dean, I want…"

He pops the top button of the jeans without even waiting for permission and yanks the zipper down, tugging greedily at the denim until both jeans and boxers are pulled down low enough to let Dean's cock spring free and the cool air that rushes over the heated skin when it does makes Dean's hiss. Castiel doesn't waste any time and his fingers closes around Dean's member with a determination that sends shills up his spine and when he starts to move his hand over him Dean has to brace himself against the mattress not to topple over. Cas' strokes are far rougher than the relaxed, unhurried pace that Dean uses when he's entertaining himself and the frantic pace catches him off guard, leaving his entire body shaking. After only a few seconds he feels his arm give out from underneath him and he sags down onto his elbow with a ragged groan, the movement forcing him to let go of Castiel's body completely in order to support his own weight. It's too fast; that's all he can think off as Castiel's fingers slide hard over the head of his cock; it's too fast, too much, Jesus Christ, he can't handle it, it's-…!

"Jesus!" He flinches when he feels himself rubs against Cas' stomach and he struggles to regain his balance, shoving against Castiel's wrist to make him stop.

"Shit, slow down… Slow down, you can't-! I'm not-…!" He bites the last piece of the sentence off at the same time as he rips Castiel's hand away from him, fighting to hold back the white noise rushing up his spine with his eyes screwed shut. He succeeds, just barely, and once he's sure that he's capable of breathing again without risking blowing his load all over them both he opens his eyes, releasing a strung out rush of air.

"What the hell, man… You trying to embarrass me?" he grates and he knows that the glare he's trying to perform probably doesn't look anywhere near scolding since Castiel's dick only makes an excited twitch when he looks up to meet his eye.

"I'm sorry," Cas says under his breath, but the remorse in his voice doesn't do anything to cover the heated gleam in his eyes. "May I try again?"

"Dude, you don't have to ask…" Dean huffs with a smirk. "Just give me a sec." He moves to the right and lies down next to Castiel on the bed, making sure not to annoy the stitches as he turns on his uninjured side and grabs hold of Cas' hip, tugging at it to urge the other into turning towards him too.

"You have to be more careful," he murmurs at the same time as he reaches out to pump Castiel's erection slowly. "Gently, but controlled." He tightens his grip, showing him what he means and Castiel's eyes roll back into his head as he groans, melting into the touch. His hand grapples against Dean's still partially clothed thighs and Dean edges closer, sighing when Cas lets the hand drop to touch him too. He is indeed more careful this time and Dean's entire body shudders with pleasure when the new, slower strokes ripple through his senses.

"Mm yeah, just like that…" he praises, "Keep going… A bit harder… Like this, watch me…"

Castiel mimics the movements of Dean's hand obediently, swiping his thumb over the head at the same time as Dean does the same to him and whenever Dean tightens his grip so does Cas. They alter between stroking each other fast and stroking slow, changing the angles of their wrists to give them more space and it doesn't take long before the air is filled with the sound of their rapid breaths, the slick sound of skin moving against skin and the low creaking of the bedsprings.

They slowly end up moving closer to each other and soon they are kissing again, panting and groaning, breathing each other in as their bodies struggle to remain still. Dean feels Castiel's leg nudge against his knee and he reaches down, pulling the limb up to drape over his thigh at the same time as he uses his grip on the sweatpants to pull Cas closer. Castiel moans and hooks his ankle around the curve of Dean's knee and by now they're so close their hands keep bumping into each other in the narrow space between their bodies.

Dean nearly chokes on his own breath when Castiel suddenly drags himself in even closer and the slick touch of Castiel's cock slotting up and rubbing along the head of his own makes him curse between gritted teeth, every muscles in his body clenching and unclenching uncontrollably and he's sweating, the light sheen making his skin slick and causing Castiel's fingers to slip and slide when they try to latch onto his bicep. They're both shaking now and Cas moans when Dean's hips jerks forward, their irregular movement sending the hard shape of his cock sliding into the tunnel of Castiel's trembling fingers and _fuck, Jesus_-...!

"Cas…" he gasps, "Cas, you close?" He moans, feeling the impending orgasm boil beneath his skin, but Cas doesn't even seem to have heard him. His eyes are locked, half lidded and dazed onto the place where Dean is disappearing between his fingers, from the looks of it completely mesmerized by the sight.

"I can't hold back," Dean gulps, trying desperately to puzzle together a warning. "If you're not there yet... Cas, for god's sake-!"

Castiel blinks, a slow, dazed bat of his eye lids before his gaze slides up to settle on Dean's own and that one look makes Dean's gut feels as if it's going to curl in on itself and implode with the force of a super nova at any given moment.

"Dean…" Cas' voice is barely a whimper, but there's a razor's edge of amazement to it, an awestruck bewilderment that hits Dean like a sledgehammer to the chest and he's coming, he can feel the climax rise inside him, feel the hot cold of it rushing up his spine and he can't stop it, lord help him, he can't _stop it_!

"Cas…" he gasps, "Cas, I-… Oh fuck…Oh _fuck_-…!"

In his fantasies he had always imagined there to be some sort of sound at that moment; perhaps a distant roll of thunder or clash of lightning, but instead the sound that reaches his ears when Castiel orgasms is purely human in a way that's more mind-blowingly erotic than anything else he could possibly have dreamed to think up on his own. He registers the strangled sound of his name as it's ripped apart by a loud groan and he feels the warm flow of the other man's release cover his fingers just a split second before his own climax pulls him under and drowns the rest of the world out in a haze of blinding white light.

It's the sound of Castiel's heavy breathing that brings him back to the present after who knows how long. He opens his eyes, tries to focus as much as he can with his heartbeat still shaking his vision and when his gaze falls on Castiel's face, open mouthed and dazed just a few inches away from his own he can't help the lazy grin that creeps across his lips.

"Hey…" he mumbles, the hoarseness of his own voice making him sound like a completely different person. "You okay over there?"

He receives a strung out huff of something that was probably meant to be words, but Dean quickly decides that he doesn't posses the linguistic abilities required to decipher them at the moment. Instead he glances down, bracing himself against the mess he knows they now are left with and he grimaces slightly at the sight, pinching his now ruined t-shirt between the tips of his fingers. Surprisingly enough Castiel's shirt is basically spotless, seeing as it was hiked up almost all the way to his armpits, but Dean's own attire however did not manage such a clean escape. It takes some wiggling, but he manages to pull his t-shirt over his head without smearing the spunk all over his face in the process and after that he uses it to clean them both up as good as he can. Cas snorts out something that sounds like a drunken chuckle when Dean strokes the garment over his stomach and he makes a mental note to investigate the reason behind that noise more thoroughly in a very near future. At the moment however he settles with tossing the soiled shirt on the floor along with his jeans and then quickly maneuvers both himself and Castiel down beneath the rumpled covers, wrapping his arms tightly around the other man's waist from behind to prevent any form of escape.

"I thought you wanted me to eat something?" Castiel asks him halfheartedly at the same time as he contradicts his own statement by pushing his back closer to Dean's chest.

"Later," Dean mumbles, kissing the slope of his neck. "I'll cook you whatever you want when Sam gets back… Whenever that is."

"Sam's not home?"

"Sam's probably halfway to China by now." Dean chuckles and adds; "We weren't exactly _quiet_..."

"Oh…" Castiel breathes, his voice sounding as if it's trying to figure out if it should be apologetic or amused.

"Yeah, he probably whooped the air and gave himself a pat on the shoulder before he left." Dean mutters before leaning in to kiss Cas' neck again, almost absentmindedly. "He's going to be insufferable from now on."

"There's nothing to worry about," Castiel tells him confidently. "He'll stop being smug once he figures out the variety of furniture we'll be having sex on around here."

Dean snorts out a laugh before he nuzzles an exaggerated purr of approval against Castiel's ear with a grin.

"Just give me a few minutes," he offers huskily, only half joking. "If we're lucky we might have time to take the kitchen table out for a spin before he gets back."

"That sounds very promising." Castiel agrees and Dean is more than ridiculously pleased to hear that the other man is smiling too.

They fall silent. Dean realizes that he has no idea what time it is, but he also concludes about two seconds later that he doesn't really care. Castiel's still clothed body is warm against his and the muffled sound of their joined breathing soon lulls him into a light slumber, his thoughts drifting through the haze inside his head as he tries to figure out what the hell just happened. He knows that he should be freaking out, but he decides that at the moment he is far too comfortable and way too tired to care about what his inner, shrinking homophobe has to say about it all. For the first time in a very, very long time he feels _at peace_ and he has every intention in the world to stay this way for as long as he possibly can, even if it means that his brother might come home to find them just like this, tangled together in Castiel's bed with Dean's come-stained shirt lying next to them on the floor. God, Sam will never let him hear the end of it...

"Dean…?"

Dean sucks in a breath, startled back to reality from the low sound of Castiel's voice.

"Yeah…?" he croaks, stifling a yawn against the smooth plane of the other's back and he feels Castiel's ribs expand beneath the weight of his arm as the other takes a deep breath, holds it and then lets it out halfway.

"I love you too."

He says it quickly, as if he's not sure if he's allowed to mention those three specific words Dean had spoken earlier at all. Dean waits, but when nothing else comes he lifts himself up and rolls Cas over on his back with a gentle tug to his shoulder before he leans down and kisses him, long and in earnest. He lets his hand come up to stroke gently along a stubbled jawline and when he pulls away again he presses his forehead lightly against Castiel's own with a sigh.

"I know," he confesses with a whisper, "I've known for a long time and I've wanted to-…" he swallows, letting his nose bump against Castiel's for a moment to gather his voice enough to continue. "I've wanted to tell you that I feel the same... Hell, I've been feeling the same for ever, but I haven't-"

"Dean."

Dean opens his eyes when Castiel chuckles his name, but he's not given much time to react before he gets a firm kiss planted right on top of his lips. He blinks, momentarily taken aback, but Castiel just smiles against his mouth and kisses him again.

"You _have_ told me," he breathes, "So many times... I didn't understand it then, but I do now. I _know_, Dean."

Dean sighs, out of relief or surprise he cannot say, and Castiel drapes an arm around his neck, pulling him down to lie back onto the mattress. Dean obediently allows Cas to rearrange their bodies until they are lying facing each other, sharing Castiel's pillow between them and Dean smiles when he feels Castiel's nose nuzzle itself into the crook of his neck at the same time as a hand guides his arm to drape across the shorter man's midsection.

A while later, when both of them has finally settled comfortably beneath the covers after some initial kicking and hushed arguing over who has the most right to the covers, Dean strokes his thumb down the length of the other's clothed spine, pressing his lips against the top of Castiel's head .

"Hey, Cas…" he mumbles.

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel answers dutifully, his voice muffled against Dean's clavicle and Dean clears his throat, licking his lips.

"I love you."

The words come out easier than he thought they would, his tongue bending and shaping around the sounds close to effortlessly and he feels Castiel's lips twitch against his neck when the last word leaves his lips.

"I know," Cas whispers softly, burrowing closer to Dean's chest with a content sigh. "I love you too..."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

* * *

_**And in case you're wondering; Yes, Sam did find them like that and no, he never let Dean hear the end of it ;)**_

_**Please feel free to leave me a review, I'd really appreciate it!**_


End file.
